


Oneirataxia

by Janekfan



Series: Geraskier Fun Day [8]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Choking, Curses, Dreams, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Exhaustion, Gen, Geraskier Fun Day (The Witcher), Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Needs a Hug, Love, M/M, Not in a fun way, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Too good to be true, Unrequited Love, Witch Curses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:07:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24564349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janekfan/pseuds/Janekfan
Summary: The inability to distinguish between fantasy and reality.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Geraskier Fun Day [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1681084
Comments: 8
Kudos: 186
Collections: Geraskier Fun Day





	Oneirataxia

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Dreams!

Absentmindedly, Jaskier nibbled the feather of his quill, contemplating the next lyric in his notebook. He’d been blessed with fame thanks to a certain white wolf. Blessed with more than enough stories with which to create. Truly, life could not be better save one missing thing. 

“You know you’ll be upset with yourself if you ruin yet another quill.” 

“Geralt!” The witcher’s quick reflexes saved his inkpot, not for the first time, as the bard jumped up and swung his arms tight around Geralt’s neck. “You’re back.” He sniffed, but held on tighter all the same. “You smell.” He leaned back to check him for injuries, still after all these years not trusting his wolf to tell the whole truth. “You should have sent word! I’d have had a bath prepared!” 

“I’m all right, little lark.” And shucked his swords before reaching out to cup his cheek. “You worry far too much.” Crowded him, shared his breath, experienced the hitch in it, before pressing their lips together. Jaskier melted. It didn’t matter how many times they’d been reunited after a hunt, it felt new always. Geralt pinned him with a large hand at the small of his back and despite their closeness in height, it never failed to make Jaskier just slightly lightheaded. Oh, the power this man held over him. He truly couldn’t know how deep it went. How fathomless it was and he shuddered when the rough pad of his thumb brushed over the thin skin just beside his eye. “Are these new wrinkles I see?” That depth didn’t stop him from smacking Geralt upside the head for his comment. 

“Cad. Brute!” But there was no heat in it, not when Geralt lavished kiss after kiss against each line gracing his face until the bard was gasping up against the wall and having no memory of moving there. Overwhelmed by the hot palms running up and down his sides, underneath his unbuttoned doublet, teasing his chemise from his breeches. Flushed and happy and--

“Wait, wait.” Whispering, it took both hands and all his limited willpower to push his White Wolf away. “A bath, first.” Geralt whined. “Food.” A growl rumbled in his chest. 

“Jaskier.” 

“And then bed, darling.” 

Yennefer scowled. 

“Forgive me. I am not excited to see you, witcher.” Geralt ducked his chin, neither was he excited to be here so soon after the _mountain_. But he couldn’t do this alone and said as much. “Why would I help you?” Yen waved him inside anyway. “You misunderstand the terms of this.” A baleful violet eye ran him up and down. “Arrangement.” She was still beautiful. He was still pulled towards her inexplicably. 

“Please, Yen.” He wanted to step forward. Held his ground. Leather squeaking when he clenched both fists. “A whole village.” 

“Have you seen this with your own eyes?” 

“I have not. I was approached a few days ago.” She wasn’t impressed. “They’re desperate.” 

“Mortals frequently are.” Geralt had nothing to offer, not really. His sword. But what did a sorceress need with physical weapons. The coin wasn’t useful. “Oh enough of that pouting. I’ll find something worth taking from you later, I’m sure.” Whether the result of his selfish wish or more honest a reason, he felt a wave of relief. 

“Thank you.” 

“Save it.” 

When they stepped through the portal the silence of the empty town square was eerie. No animals. No hawkers. No urchins. 

“This way.” Geralt strode to the inn. “They’ve put all the victims in groups. There aren’t enough unafflicted villagers to take care of them.” He touched Yennefer’s arm lightly to pause her striding forward. “I don’t know what to expect.” 

“We’ll handle it, of that I’ve no doubt.” 

The bustle of activity was subdued and quiet. Rows of bedrolls lined the floor, with yet more victims on benches and tables that couldn’t be moved, with caretakers shifting from one to another, ladling sips of water carefully into each motionless body.

“Master Witcher. Thank you.” The man’s eyes flicked to Yen but wisely kept a civil tongue. 

“Hm.” 

“They seem only to be sleeping. But we’re unable to wake them. They react not to pain, or shouting, or strong scents.” Geralt and Yen kneeled to examine a multitude of patients, each exhibiting those same symptoms. “She feeds off of their dreams. Off of their happiness as she provides them their deepest desires.” 

It was decided. A villager would show them most of the way, and then leave to avoid being hexed. 

“You can keep your personal things in this room. It’s where we’ve been storing possessions from the traveler’s caught in the spell.” The powerful pair readied themselves before tucking the remaining supplies to the side when his breath caught. 

“Geralt, what is it--oh.” 

Geralt would recognize that lute anywhere, especially considering how it had been obtained. It’s owner would never abandon it. Would never give it to someone else. Of that, Geralt was certain. 

“The bard. Where is he?” The pit in his stomach widened, eating him from the inside. Surely, he was giving aid, helping those in need. Taking care of the stricken. And Geralt held his breath as he was led back down the stairs, straining his hearing for the human’s voice. He hadn’t heard it before, but he hadn’t been listening for it. He was fine and foolish as ever. 

The darkness in the corner they were led hid nothing from his mutated eyes and he took in every detail. It was true that Jaskier merely looked like he was sleeping, though not as he normally would, curled up on his side or sprawled across the bed. He was unnervingly still. Pale. Gaunt. And it was hard to not see him as a corpse. 

“Geralt.” 

“This is my fault, Yen.”

“No one is disagreeing with you, but if we don’t take care of this bitch soon, we will lose them all.” 

Jaskier luxuriated in the warmth of Geralt’s body next to his. In the rhythmic inhale-exhale raising and lowering a powerful chest. He could hear the witcher’s heartbeat all around him, he was drowning in it, in this bliss. There was no possible way he could be happier. Not with his love here with him now.

“Jaskier?” Drowsy, his arm tightening around him, tucking him closer. “Okay?” 

“Always, my darling. Always when I’m with you.” 

“It reeks of dark blood magic.” Yen had her sleeve over her mouth and nose. “This is wrong.” 

“Can you stop it?” She nodded. 

“It’s powerful.” She squared her shoulders and held out her hand to Geralt. “But I think we’re more than a match.” 

“Don’t you look familiar.” The witcher drawled, fat on the power she still drew upon and she pointed an accusing finger in Geralt’s direction. “I’ve drained a lot from that bard. Full of ideals and silly little stories. The perfect meal, so sweet a dessert.” 

“Shut your mouth.” 

“If you knew how much he loved you, would you have banished him like you did on the mountain? Abandoned him? To be found by someone like me?” Geralt growled, waiting for Yen’s signal and wanting nothing more than to tear the foul beast in front of him limb from limb. With amazing speed, she was suddenly directly in his face, her disgusting breath spilling over him. “You killed him, witcher. And all he wanted was to love you.” 

It was perfect. More perfect than Jaskier could remember feeling in his life. And like everything, he was wont to question it, try as he might to just accept how good it was. 

But his life was always full of ups and downs. It had to be, to provide interest. Inspiration, romance, love, adventure, danger and excitement. And while he was more content than he ever could have hoped in this cottage with its garden and room full of his music things, and the bright clear windows that let in such warm sunlight no matter the day or the time, he felt kept. 

He felt wrong. 

His gaze lingered on his handsome witcher. On this illusion. Maybe he could just stay here, like this, with everything he thought he ever wanted. Geralt; attentive in every way. Loving, free with affection and touch and words. Too perfect. Too loving. Too _soft_.

This wasn’t Geralt. 

Buying this home was a fuzzy memory full of contradictions and he couldn’t remember the conversation they’d had, or when Geralt invited him to stay with him always. 

Their conversation on the mountain was clear as that day. 

He’d been so foolish. So stupid. Geralt would never want him. This was a lie. Fanciful. Wonderful. A dream. But not true. Jaskier couldn’t live like this, no matter how good it felt to be loved. 

“Jaskier, sparrow?” Geralt looked concerned and _oh_ to have the true witcher look at him like he was worth anything to him. Like he hadn’t caused every ill in his life. “What’s wrong?” 

“My darling. My dearest heart.” Jaskier let himself step close, his chest torn in two, tears in his eyes, softness where their lips pressed together just once more, trembling as he lingered. “I love you.” 

“I know.” Not-Geralt smiled, confused. “As I love you.” Gentle fingers brushed tears away. “Why are you crying?” 

“This isn’t real.” Carried on a broken sob. “Don’t you see, my love? My White Wolf?” 

“No.” He stepped away, eyes wide. 

“The real you would never love me.” 

“No.” With rage. 

And those beautiful hands closed over his throat. 

Geralt could see when something went wrong. The witch blanched, stumbling, but there had been no sign of Yennefer yet. 

“No.” She fell back. “Your brat of a bard.” Geralt scoffed at the truth of it. “He’s figured it out.” His eyes widened just as Yen’s magic tore a hole so huge in the witch it nigh tore her in half. 

“I was done listening to her.” 

They portaled back to town, cheers of joy and cries of happiness filled the air, and they tore into the inn to find Jaskier as they’d left him. 

“Why isn’t he waking like the others?” 

“I don’t know.” Geralt gripped his shoulders, shook him with force to watch his head loll lifelessly on the thin mat. 

“Jaskier!” Auburn eyes begged the sorceress. “Yennefer! He’s not breathing.” Oh goddess he looked awful, more than half-dead, so pale, unmoving and guilt tightened in a fist around his heart. He’d killed him. 

He’d killed him. 

“Little lark.” He squeezed tighter, words sweet, the lack of air sweeter. 

“It’s all right.” Choked out at the war in Not-Geralt’s eyes. The dream wanted to continue, but the truth of being found out was disrupting the spell. 

“I don’t want to do this.” Black encroached on his vision, those bright gold eyes full of anguish and anger. “Why couldn’t you have just believed?” 

“My dear witcher.” Struggling to gasp, the delicate bones in his neck cracked under his thumbs, his legs kicked involuntarily though he couldn’t feel it. “Love isn’t worth anything, if it’s untrue.”

There was no other sight he would rather see at his last than his witcher’s face. 

Which is why he was gawking and speechless when his eyes opened and Geralt’s face took up the whole of it. 

“Jaskier!” 

“Isn’t real.” His throat was sore. He couldn’t tell if it was real or imagined. Not? Geralt, clutched him closer, tucked him into his neck and pet his hair clumsily. 

“It is, it is. I’m sorry, Jaskier.” Bleary, empty, Jaskier glanced around the room. It was full of people he didn’t know but they looked very similar to how he was feeling. “This wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t sent you away.” 

“Real?” 

“Sadly yes. You should recognize the smell.” With difficulty, Jaskier lifted his chin off the witcher’s shoulder to peer up into amused violet. 

“Yennefer.” He smiled, weakly, exhausted even though he’d been sleeping all this time. “Now I know this isn’t a dream.” And fainted dead away. 

When next Jaskier woke, gentle rain pitter-pattered against the window in a comforting rhythm. It had never rained there, for as far as he could remember. 

“You’re awake.” A broad arm slipped behind his shoulders to lift him forward and Jaskier was relieved for the support when his vision whited out and the room spun. 

“Somehow.” The bard groaned. He felt weak, sick. Like he hadn’t eaten in weeks and he supposed part of that was probably true. “Do I want to know what happened?” 

“Sip slowly.” As eloquent as ever, Jaskier forgave Geralt for ignoring him this once while he focused on downing whatever delicious substance was in the cup. “Slow, I said.” And he whimpered when Geralt pulled away. “You’ll make yourself ill.” 

“Geralt.” Drawn out in a whine.

“Hush.” The cup was back, and all was forgiven a second time. Sweet, salty, a combination of different herbs he didn’t care to attempt identifying. Jaskier let himself lean into Geralt’s solid warmth when he eased it away.

“You’re being so kind.” Jaskier let him hold the mug to his lips again. “How am I to know this isn’t another trick?” He regretted his words when he caught the flash of pain lance through Geralt’s eyes. But he felt dimwitted and slow, unable to formulate a response and Geralt beat him to it.

“We will speak when you’re feeling better.” Geralt pulled the quilt up to his chin, tucking him in like a child. “Then I can apologize properly.” Jaskier blinked in confusion and the witcher sighed, settling a heavy hand over his eyes. “Just rest. You need it. And I’ll be here until you’re well.” Relaxed by the reassuring combination of gruffness and care, Jaskier let himself drift to sleep without fearing to dream.

**Author's Note:**

> Kinda rushed ^^"" 
> 
> But the idea is there!


End file.
